


The Middle Holmes

by ancienttardis



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: Eventual Johnlock, F/M, Gen, Growing Up, Kidlock, M/M, Slow Burn, TAG WARNINGS DO APPLY, WILL POST AT START OF TRIGGERING CHAPTER
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6079290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancienttardis/pseuds/ancienttardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one ever mentions the middle Holmes, and there's a reason.<br/>Embark on a journey through the life of Sherlock Holmes as we discover the affect of the supposed non-existent brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to my first multi-chapter dedicated fic! I'm really excited for this and hopefully it turns out great.  
> thanks to the lovely Bre <3 for giving me the idea of adding our OC of Weston Holmes (middle brother)  
> -  
> also, for those of you who wonder what Weston looks like (for the most part), we've chosen Adam Driver!  
> -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the beginning of Sherlock Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the first chapter is short, there's more to come!

On  _ 6 January 1980 _ , William Sherlock Scott Holmes was born.

He was the unexpected third child of the Holmes family. His parents hadn’t anticipated any more children after the middle brother, Weston Patrick Holmes. Weston was 5 years older than Sherlock, and Mycroft was a good 8 years older than the newborn.    
  


Mummy Holmes had been worn out from all the men in the house; leaving taking care of the unwanted infant to the younger boys to teach them responsibility. Mycroft right away took into teaching Sherlock everything he needed to know in order to avoid stupidity. Weston taught Sherlock the more emotional things; like it was okay to cry, okay to express emotion. All done over time. Sherlock of course didn’t quite get the picture. He was developing slowly, due to his mother’s lack of prenatal vitamins and other health issues she had obtained. 

 

By age 2, when most children had started talking instead of screaming and crying, Sherlock hadn’t said a single word or even tried to. No matter how hard the boys tried. Mummy Holmes put in minor worry and noticed even Sherlock was developmentally smaller than average. Mycroft had given up on teaching the toddler basic science and left it all to Weston to raise him up not to be stupid; and he did. 


	2. Brighton Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a day at the beach, an annual occasion to celebrate the Holmes' parents marriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, there may be a few typos seeing as this chapter is more of a long drabble.  
> there will be a plot line forming over time

_ 12 August 1984 _

 

“Sherlock come here so you don’t get a sunburn!” Weston chased after his younger brother. It was a Holmes family tradition to go to Brighton beach on the week of Mummy and Daddy’s wedding anniversary. 

Sherlock had still refused to speak, even though he was 4 now. It was abnormal in a child to not speak; everything hinted back at developmental disorders. The small boy ran down the beach, wind and sand in his ginger curls. Freckles covering a vast majority of his face and arms. A gleeful noise escaped as he looked over at Weston.

“Sherlock!” Weston had to stop running, his legs were far too long for his body. A boy already reaching 5ft at age 9 was quite the growth spurt, and Weston was still growing. He took heavy breaths as he watched little Sherlock jump over other people’s towels. He didn’t stop until he tripped over legs that were splayed out on a blanket, landing face first and getting a nice mouth full of sand. Weston immediately panicked and put away that he was out of breath. He was right by Sherlock’s side tending to the bloody noise and getting the sand out of his mouth. Little tears spread down Sherlock’s face as he looked up.

 

“Get that stupid kid under control.” The woman lying on the blanket snapped, slurring her words from the three too many cocktails in her system. A boy just two years older than Sherlock looked over from his Mother’s yelling, assuming it was at him. The boy got up from his sand castle he was building and went over to Sherlock and Weston with a beach towel. 

“That looks like it hurt… sorry about my mum she’s always drinking too many adult juices,” The boy handed over the towel and kneeled neck to Sherlock with a bright smile. “My name is John.” He greeted with two missing front teeth. 

 

Weston just eyed over John and took the towel. “He doesn’t talk..” He nursed Sherlock’s bloody nose with the towel and tried to calm him down. “C’mon then, let’s get you back to Mum and Dad.” He said quietly as he finally stopped the bleeding, tossing the disgusting blanket back at John. “Thanks for that.” 

 

Sherlock was drooling over the sand still in his mouth and tears made marks down his face. His shaking hands gripped onto Weston, like he might die if Weston didn’t do his job right. John frowned at the both of them. Knowing Weston wasn’t being nice.

“You didn’t say the magic words.” John pouted and crossed his arms, watching the bloodied towel land right at his mother’s feet. 

“Johnny do shut up no one gives a damn.” Mrs Watson glared at her son and the two other boys he was talking to. “Go find your father. He should be here soon to take you and your sister home for the weekend.” She drank more of her fourth cocktail too many and groaned. 

 

John pouted and gave the boys a look. “Hope you feel better. Even though your brother doesn’t use the magic words.” He said in a small voice before walking off to find his father’s car with Harriette, his sister. Sherlock of course understood the words people spoke, but didn’t speak himself. He was saving it for a special moment.

 

Weston took Sherlock back to their beach set up and gave him water to rinse out his mouth. Mummy Holmes looked over from her book and frowned. 

 

“Oh dear, what on earth happened to his face?” She motioned to the sand burns across his cheek and his blood stained nose. Sherlock looked at her with wet eyes and a quivering lower lip.

“Just.. a bit of a stumble.. nothing too bad.” Weston was taking care of Sherlock’s damages. Keeping him calm as the small toddler put up with the pain of sanitizer. Sherlock began to zone out and go into his own little world. The small beginnings of his mind palace. He documented the smell of the ocean air. The feeling of the sun’s warm rays against his gentle skin. The taste of sand in his mouth and the burn of a bloody nose. How it hurt and how Weston was taking care of it; so he knew how to take care of it again if that were to ever happen. The sound of the ocean waves retracting and pushing out again against the dampened sand. The colours of the beach had become something familiar. Blues and greens of the ocean, yellows and browns of the sand and little rocks, pinks and oranges of the now setting sun and the reflection against the sky. By the time he had left his mind palace, he was in the back of his parents car. A towel laid over him and a cold towel on his forehead. His body ached, perhaps he was just tired. His parents talked in the front seats of the car, keeping their voices down so they don’t disturb his sleeping brothers. It was late, he concluded, the moon was reaching up the sky now; turning the once bright beach down to darkness as they returned back to their holiday home.

 

It was peaceful. Once they reached home a series of showers were in order to remove the sand from inconvenient places. Weston took to setting Sherlock in a bath and washing his ginger curls. He could feel the sand scraping his scalp as Weston scrubbed viciously with soapy water. Sherlock looked up at him with the round galaxy eyes he was given and blinked, a small yawn escaping his mouth.

 

“Almost done, your sherly curls like to hold onto sand.” Weston smiled at him and rinsed the soap off Sherlock’s head. “and you didn’t eat your dinner… there’s salad left over for you that you need to eat before going to bed.” He reminded Sherlock. Sherlock just nodded and went through the process of rinsing, drying and getting dressed in his long shirt he loved. The print of a cartoon bee next to a container of honey covered the front. He ate his dinner slowly, picking out the carrots he hated so much. 

 

The night ended with a story from Weston, one about a magical bee pirate who took all the treasure from Brighton Beach. The pirates name was Captain William of the S. S. Holmes. Sherlock had heard the same story every night and loved it to no end.

  
“Goodnight, brother mine.” Weston said softly, a smile from Sherlock in return. He tucked Sherlock in and turned on the pirate ship night light in the corner of the room. “Sleep tight, don’t let the bumble bees bite.” Weston headed out the bedroom door and Sherlock was soon asleep. The pleasure and comfort brought to him by his older brother, the only one in his world that really mattered.


	3. First Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock catches the flu.. It starts a sibling rivalry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a longer chapter and that's my goal now!

_ 19 November 1984 _

 

The temperature had dropped and the spread of the flu went through the schools. Especially in primary schools. Sherlock had started to attend early despite the lack of communication. He wrote everything out for the longer answers that weren’t yes and no. Sherlock’s teachers were amazed at how nice he could write and his spelling seeing as he wasn’t even average kindergarten age yet.

Sherlock was wrapped in a warm fleece dark blue blanket. His little nose was red and runny and his chapped lips open to breath. He watched outside the bay window to see the beginning of snowfall across the outskirts of London. He let out a struggled wet cough and cuddled closer to Weston in the reading nook. 

“Would you like some tea, Sherly? It’ll help with the throat if you drink it with honey.” Weston offered and rubbed Sherlock’s arm comfortingly. Sherlock just nodded and pushed his curly haired head further into Weston’s chest. “I’m going to have to get up to make it, you know..” Wes chuckled and played with Sherlock’s ginger curls.

Sherlock just shook his head and coughed again, struggling to catch his breath again. This time it seemed worth and Weston panicked to help Sherlock to keep breathing.

“Hey- careful there-” He rubbed Sherlock’s back and looked around for a nearby glass of water that may help the child keep from being dehydrated.

“Are we out of cake?” Mycroft asked as he walked down the hall of the older victorian style home. He was always looking for sweets; he would eat a whole cake if he had the chance to do so. 

“Maybe, don’t know. Make tea for Sherlock please” Weston asked and got Sherlock to stop coughing so much for a moment. Sherlocks face was tinted read and he looked exhausted, almost feverish. He had already missed a week of school he couldn’t bear to miss much more. Even if it consisted of colouring and playing with toys. Sherlock never did either of those at home unless it was bee pirates. 

“Why can’t you do it!?! I’m making myself a snack.” Mycroft complained and stomped around the kitchen, obnoxiously slamming about mugs and containers of different teas. 

“Because i’m the only one taking care of him until Mum comes home”

“You know you don’t have too, he’s smart enough to do it on his own.”

“Mycroft! He’s only 4!” Weston rubbed Sherlock’s back and looked down at him to check if he was okay. Sherlock’s eyes sort of swirled about as he felt dizziness and nausea. Weston was worried that he might throw up.

“Fine. Fine. I can take care of him tomorrow while you’re at school. I’ve finished my classes already.” Mycroft gloated and walked to the reading nook to hand Sherlock the fresh tea. He was wearing his new school uniform he just got tailored; just about to head off to school for the day. Which, of course, Sherlock made the very unfortunate move. He projectile vomited his breakfast all over Mycroft’s front. Soaking through the recently ironed outfit.

“SHERLOCK NO YOU BLOODY IDIOT! DISGUSTING! YOU GOT SICK ALL OVER ME! AND I’M RUNNING LATE TO SCHOOL YOU- YOU-” Mycroft screamed at the top of his lungs and threw his arms up in the air, spilling all the tea on the carpet. This led to Sherlock crying and heaving. His head throbbing and his stomach feeling like it wasn’t done just yet.

“Mycroft! Stop! It wasn’t his fault!” Weston held Sherlock hesitantly away from Mycroft, not wanting any sick on him either. “Let’s get you to the loo then.” Weston was the more motherly brother of course. 

 

******

 

A few days later Sherlock returned to his health and came back from school with his homework to practice handwriting again. He thought he didn’t need to do any more practice but whatever to get his parents attention, he would do. He sat at the kitchen counter and went right away to get his work done. Tapping his feet against the wall of the island. Mycroft walked in to grab some juice, having caught Sherlock’s sickness. He watched Sherlock write for a bit and slowly poured the glass, faking a cough and spilling it over Sherlock’s papers.

Sherlock gasped and looked up at Mycroft with a little kid fiery passion in his eyes. He wanted to scream and yell but he didn’t know what to say. He had heard his parents fight the other night and use quite the colourful language. Maybe that. Mycroft just snickered and poured a bit more to really soak the paper. Now Sherlock was outraged. 

“you..” he started out with slowly, his voice only first being used and it was weak to begin with. “You… fucking twat shit head bastard motherfucking cock sucking bitch!” Sherlock announced to the world with his little, soft voice. A small lisp becoming apparent.

Mycroft’s eyes widened and he seemed shocked. “Ohhhhhh you’re in trouble!” he laughed and pointed behind Sherlock. Where their parents were standing in the doorway in complete awe that their little boy had said such words.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes! Pardon me but that’s not something you should say, Ever!” Mummy Holmes set down her purse and spanked Sherlock’s arse as a punishment. 

“b-but-” Sherlock gasped and looked at his mother, grasping the thought that she just hit him. “You said it to Daddy last night!” he had collected almost a dictionary amount of words for his vocabulary. Only Mycroft noticed that those were his first words ever said.

“I said no such thing! Clean up your mess and go to your room young man!” Mummy Holmes spanked him again and another one came from his father as well. Daddy Holmes wore a scolding face. Sherlock began to cry out from the three spankings he received. 

“My- Mycroft m-made the m-mess” Sherlock had tears rolling down his face as he splashed his hands in the spilled juice. Mycroft put a hand on his chest and raised his eyebrows. 

“I’ve done no such thing, brother mine! How dare you for blaming me!” Mycroft casually spilled what was left of the bottle and grinned. “Look what you’ve done!”

Sherlock felt so overwhelmed by everyone being angry with him that he ran out of the kitchen and down the hall to Weston’s room. His shirt being covered in juice that splashed. Weston looked up immediately and furrowed his brows. He had heard the yelling but wasn’t sure what it was all about. 

“Mu-mmy and Dad-ddy and My-Croft-” Sherlock stuttered between sobs. “are being mean! Mycroft spilled juice all over my homework and ruining it so I can’t get good marks and mummy and daddy hit my bum!” He hugged Weston tightly and sat on his lap, crumpling the book below.

Weston stared at his brother, confused by the suddenly large amounts of talking. “Sherlock… it’s okay…” he said softly and hugged his younger brother back. “What did you do that made them hit you?”

“I called Mycroft names…” Sherlock sniffled and the crying slowed, but the snot running out of his nose certainly didn’t.

“What kind of names”

“Like… bitch… bastard.. mother fucker..” He said so innocently. Not even knowing the meaning of the string of words he had called Mycroft.

“Those are bad words.. that’s why.. you aren’t supposed to say them unless you’re an adult.” Weston explained and scrunched his nose at the wet warmth on his shirt. “They hit your bum cause you were naughty.” He knew he should scold Sherlock too but at the same time is was entertaining to know the fact he had called Mycroft such hideous words. 

“I didn’t know that… I heard mummy say them before..” Sherlock rubbed his face on Weston’s sleeve and pulled away. “I don’t want them to hit me.. I just wanted good marks so I could get a treat.” He looked into Weston’s eyes with his own large, deer like galaxy eyelets. 

“Don’t say them again, Okay?” Weston kissed Sherlock’s forehead and ruffled the curls.

“Okay.. I can’t get good marks now..” Sherlock said sadly. He moved away from the book he was crushing against Westons legs and laid down on the end of the bed. Weston just sighed and poked Sherlock’s side with his foot. 

“Tell your teacher tomorrow and show her the ruined homework then. It should help.” Weston suggested and wiggled his toes. Sherlock paid them no mind even though they were digging in his back. 

“Okay…” Sherlock said quietly and closed his eyes. He enjoyed his brothers company. He curled up into a little ball and hid under Weston’s blanket. Moments later little snores and sniffles came out from under the blanket and Weston couldn’t help but laugh to himself quietly and shake his head. Sherlock was fast asleep for the night. He had certainly gotten his parents attention and learned quick that they weren’t always nice.


	4. Birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday dear Sherlock, Happy Birthday too you!

_ 6 January 1985 _

 

Sherlock didn’t particularly understand the point of a birthday celebration. His past few, from what he remembers, weren’t even celebrated. Perhaps a small note saying “You’re one year older, here’s your chores for the day.” but nothing more. Weston, of course, anticipated that Sherlock’s class would of course spend a large part of the day celebrating his turning a year older. 

 

“Sherlock… hey, time to wake up for school.” Weston said softly, sitting on the edge of the small boys bed. Sherlock’s room was decorated with pirates, bees, and science themed items. A mat of the periodic table, bee stuffies and clothes, pirate comforter and bed sheets. Oh the kid was spoiled when it came to items to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t bother the rest of the family. “Hey come on, wake up. Before Mycroft takes your breakfast… we have bacon..” Weston knew Sherlock would jump Mycroft and reach down his throat to get his bacon back.

 

Sherlock shifted in the bed and slowly got up. His first instinct was to latch onto Westons arm to be carried around his morning routine. “Tell Mycroft to stay away from my plate.” He said groggily. His little curls were all over, tiny hands and feet holding onto Weston for dear life like he might be dropped. Weston laughed and picked his brother up, holding him to his chest. 

“Because he’ll listen to me.” Weston said with a slight sigh. He took Sherlock into the bathroom and started up the tub, adding bubbles and Sherlock’s favourite bath toys. “Get in then, faster you’re clean, faster you can beat Mycroft up over bacon. Sherlock stripped and jumped into the bath happily. Right away he began reenacting a scene he had created in his head where Mrs Duck had to survive the pirate raid in the sea of grape bubbles. Dramatic noises and splashed went about as Weston did his best to clean up Sherlock. “Eventually you’re going to have to do this on your own.”

 

“I’m four. Taking a shower is too tedious and then i’ll miss the battle scenes!” Sherlock claimed with a splash, trying to move from Weston’s shampoo covered hands. 

 

“You’re five now, actually. Turned five today.” Weston frowned. He didn’t think it was right Sherlock didn’t get to have a normal childhood all because of how Mycroft turned out with their parents way of raising him. Never let such simple pointless distractions play with your head.

 

“Oh. Boring. I guess I have to start allllllll over again.” Sherlock tossed his toys out of the tub and reached for the lowered shower head to have Weston rinse him off.

 

“Your classmates and teacher are going to sing for you… People celebrate birthdays. Just… try to not be rude about it.” Weston did as Sherlock wanted, rinsing him off and taking him out of the tub. Sherlock was bundled up in a towel with a hood, designed to look like a bee. He even had little wings, antennae and a stinger. Sherlock gave Weston a strange look and frowned.

 

“Can you tell them not to do anything for my birthday?” Sherlock didn’t like to be the center of attention. 

 

“Just get dressed.” Weston handed Sherlock his school uniform before walking downstairs to join the rest of the family munching on breakfast. Of course they left very little for Sherlock, rarely even remembering the birth of their third child.

 

*

 

As the classroom piled in with Sherlock’s classmates, He stayed behind everyone like always. He never spoke to any of them. Sherlock retreated to his assigned seat with his school folder and went right to doing his alphabet practice. He already had it memorised but his teacher suggested he keep going over it, she didn’t believe that such a young student was already advanced. 

 

The teacher hushed down everyone and they sang the good morning song. Sherlock just sort of sat there with a bored look on his face. How could all these kids stand such a pointless song? Right… they were stupid, unlike him. 

“Alright class, to begin today we have to celebrate a special someone’s birthday!” Mrs. Mackenzie said way too cheerfully. Sherlock stared her down with a grumpy look, he had learned from Mycroft’s deduction lessons. “Little Sherlock here is turning 5 years old today! Come here, dear, you get to wear the birthday boy crown today and you also get first choice for playtime” Her voice was far too high pitch and happy.

Sherlock looked around and shook his head and hiding behind the folder full of his schoolwork. A few students giggled and tried to get him to move by getting him up out of his seat. Sherlock put up a fight and tried to stay where he wanted to be. 

 

Mrs Mackenzie brought Sherlock to the special stool and put the crown on his head. “Happy Birthday to you… Happy Birthday to you…” The class sang along with little giggles. “Happy Birthday Dear Sherlloooooockkkkk” They dragged out, “Happy Birthday to you!” Everyone clapped and Mrs Mackenzie praised everyone who sang.

 

“Stupid tradition…” Sherlock mumbled, his face beet red. He wanted to hide from everyone. 

 

Mrs Mackenzie frowned at Sherlock’s comment, giving him a look before kneeling in front of him.

“Dear… is everything alright?”

 

“I don’t like birthdays… My brother says they’re pointless.” He whispered to the teacher. 

 

“They aren’t pointless. Surely your parents have gotten you presents and cake.” Mrs Mackenzie had Weston in her class just a few years ago. But she knew well of Mycroft from the many times he had come to take Sherlock from class.

 

“No.” Sherlock stared into her eyes for a long while. She looked saddened by learning that Sherlock has never had a proper birthday. What sort of family were the Holmes’ to take away such a huge part of a childhood. “Your husband is cheating on you with the gym teacher.” He hopped off the stool, took off the hat and placed it nicely on the floor. He retreated to his seat and hid again behind the folder. The entire class went silent with confusion. Mrs Mackenzie on the other hand just sort of stayed there, no way a five year old could know about her husband and the gym teacher.

 

“You’re just misunderstood, dear. Right…” She cleared her throat, standing and fixing her skirt. “Let's… draw what you had for breakfast this morning kids. Remember to label the foods and colours you used!” Mrs Mackenzie retreated to her abnormally happy high pitch voice Sherlock dreaded so much.

 

Sherlock’s parents had gotten quite the phone call that evening. Weston had bought Sherlock more books and took him out for ice cream, wanting to give him some form of celebration.

 

*

 

_ 6 January 1995 _

 

Weston had been there every step of the way for Sherlock, no matter the circumstances. In this case, it was sending him off to boarding school for the first time. Sherlock certainly could have gone earlier but he was busy being kicked out of every public school in London. 

 

Weston drove his little brother to the new school, Westminster Boarding School. Sherlock had just gotten kicked out of his previous secondary school and his parents were beyond furious. They didn’t even want to look at him so this was a simple choice. 

 

“don’t… set the classrooms on fire this time.” Weston reminded him, glancing over at the older Sherlock. He had died his once ginger curls a dark black, making his porcelain skin look ever more pale. Thoughts raced through his head as he picked up on every deduction.

 

“Boring.” Sherlock scoffed and tugged at the tie he was forced to wear around his neck. “Stupid… bloody thing. Why not let me get a GED, take a university entrance exam and watch me move on already? These schools are far below my intellectual level.” He said grumpily and looked at the building they pulled into.

 

“Maybe if you had took my warnings, this wouldn’t have happened.” Weston parked and rubbed his eyes. He had a disease that quite literally ate at his eye tissue and deteriorated his sense of sight. It was occasionally painful and dreadfully slow, but he wanted to make the most of his sight. He painted in free time, had dozens of them back at his University dorm.

 

“Maybe if you had took my warnings-” Sherlock said in a mocking tone, “Wouldn’t matter. Mum and Dad don’t give a damn. I might as well waste my life away having my version of fun.” He groaned and got out of the car. “If I call you to pick me up, please do.” He wanted to make this as quick and painless as possible.

 

“Would you like help with your-”

 

“Nope. Later, brother mine.” Sherlock grabbed everything of his and raced himself into the school, ignoring everyone who gave him weird looks for moving in mid winter quarter.

 

“Have a happy birthday too, at that…” Weston frowned and watched the long legs on his brother race off, carrying more weight than he had on his body.

 

*

 

Sherlock found his room with ease and began to unpack. At least his roommate was organised. Everything seemed spotless but something just didn’t seem right. As he unpacked he felt someone walk into the room.

 

“Ahh.. There he is. Infamous Sherlock Holmes who likes to do mad scientist experiments in the laboratories.” The boy spoke with a smirk. His voice was smooth, almost controlling. His hair was a strawberry blonde, combed back with precision. “The names Victor Trevor.” He was awfully close to Sherlock, their faces mere inches apart.

 

“Lovely to know I don’t need to introduce myself. Not one for small talk. If you could perhaps give me my space and go one about your day that would be wonderful” Sherlock said with such a sharp sarcastic tone that his voice seemed to slice through thin air.

 

“aww too bad, I wanted to get to know you.” Victor walked  around the room and grabbed the skull on Sherlock’s night stand. “Who’s your friend?”

 

“Yorick-”

 

“Ah! Fan of Mr William Shakespeare. Nice, Nice. I think his literature is utter shit but opinions don’t matter.” Victor cut off with a laugh and fiddled with the jaw. He ran a finger over all the teeth still attached to the skull, taking note of each detail.

 

“No. Gift from my brother, name came with it.” Sherlock snatched it from Victor’s hands and went back to organising his sock index in the small dresser that was supplied for him.

 

“Sentiment. Lovely.” He decided to plant his nice plush arse on Sherlock’s bed, ruffling the fresh bedsheets. 

 

“Could you.. move?” Sherlock was beginning to get frustrated. The longer he stared at Victor the more he realised the boy was a mystery.

 

“I could, yes. But do I want to? Not really. Your bed hasn’t been used. It’s newer.” Victor ran his hand across the pillow case and hummed. “Low thread count though, does make for softer linen.”

 

Sherlock grumbled and put his empty suitcase and duffle bag under his bed, arse sticking in the air. Victor looked over how well the uniform fit Sherlock’s thin frame, humming in acceptance. He was soon interrupted by the headmaster walking in with a fresh cup of tea for Sherlock, he wanted to stay on Sherlock’s good side. 

 

“Mr Holmes, pleasure to have another of your… lovely family… join us here at Westminster. I’ve brought tea as a birthday gift, not really supposed to supply much for students unless you fill out a form to do so.” The headmaster cleared his throat.

 

Sherlock stood, brushing off the dust from the floor and looked over the tea. “Won’t be necessary, don’t do… birthdays.” His eyes looked up and down the headmaster before taking the tea and handing it over to Victor, who gladly took it. 

 

“Ah, figured as much. Good luck with your classes and do make sure you follow the rule book, Mr Holmes. You’ll find yourself breezing through the courses with no bad marks if you do so. Victor I expect you to keep him in line.”

 

“Will do, Mr Gregson. Ta.” Victor waved him off and sipped at the tea, making a face behind Mr Gregson’s back. “Don’t blame you for not wanting it.” He set the tea aside and stood in front of Sherlock, keeping the space between them thin as if to intimidate the other boy. “Birthday is it? Happy Birthday. Guess I should give you a gift of my own.” He snickered. Sherlock gave him a look of distaste and found himself unable to move. Heart pounding, elevated pulse, dilated eyes. No… already… too soon. Perhaps it was nerves, that had to be a logical reasoning. Victor seemed to pick up on it and winked at the taller boy. “I’ve got class now, laters.” and off he with, grabbing his bag and coat, headed out the door.

  
Sherlock was already in deep. He needed to call Weston and it hadn't even been more than 20 minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on social media!  
> -Instagram: @sherlock.holmes.lives , @alienqu33n , and @sherlock.fanart (co-owned with the lovely Bre!)  
> -Twitter: @capnawesome914  
> -Tumblr: @ancienttardis (for more writing drabbles and updates) and @praisetwerkingsatan for all else!  
> -YouTube: @ancienttardis


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